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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25036612">The Cat's Mau</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kedreeva/pseuds/Kedreeva'>Kedreeva</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Aromantic Aziraphale (Good Omens), Aromantic Crowley (Good Omens), Asexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Asexual Character, Asexual Crowley (Good Omens), Cats, Crowley's Flat (Good Omens), Feelings, Friendship, Gen, The Night After the Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), The Night At Crowley's Flat (Good Omens), Unresolved Emotional Tension</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 09:01:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,383</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25036612</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kedreeva/pseuds/Kedreeva</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Aziraphale comes to Crowley's flat for the first time after the apocalypse, and discovers a secret no one thought was a secret, about the cat Crowley doesn't exactly have.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale &amp; Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>523</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Ineffable Cats</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Cat's Mau</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western"> </p>
<hr/><p class="western">
  <em>“In ancient times, cats were worshiped as gods;</em>
</p><p class="western">
  <em>cats have not forgotten this.”</em>
</p><p class="western">-Terry Pratchett</p>
<hr/><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">            They had reasoned, only a week after Crowley had first moved into his Mayfair flat, that it would be rather a bad idea for them both to be caught at it. The bookstore, well, that was <em>public</em>, and even if they were there long past public hours, they stood a better chance of being believed if their argument contained the words <em>tempting</em> rather than <em>blessing</em>. Crowley might even receive a commendation from Hell, being caught in the ambitious act of trying to ruin an angel at said angel’s place of business. On the other wing, it was far more likely Aziraphale would be reprimanded for wasting his time trying to redeem the unforgivable.</p><p class="western">            So for years and years, decades by now, they had studiously avoided the flat. They met at the bookshop, or at the park, or at this or that restaurant. Sometimes there were shows, or festivals, museums and exhibits. They met in secret, but never truly in private, and Aziraphale would close the bookshop doors behind Crowley when he left, and wish that he could go with him.</p><p class="western">            And when the end of the world came and went, it packed its bags with all of their arguments and all of their excuses, and left them sitting on a bench in the middle of the night with the freedom to say all of the words they’d held behind their teeth for those decades. But old habits continued to die hard, and they had sat on a park bench and split a bottle of wine and asked themselves questions about the universe and her deity rather than find an answer to any of their own issues. But when the bus had arrived, Aziraphale had followed Crowley onto it, and taken his hand without a word as, for the first time, he sat beside him instead of across from or in front of or behind him.</p><p class="western">            Which was how Aziraphale found himself standing quite anxiously behind Crowley as he opened the door to his flat a couple of hours later, after the bus had dropped them off. It seemed so… mundane, turning a lock in a key, but they were both exhausted beyond frivolous miracles. He wasn’t sure Crowley was up to much of anything, considering how he’d stopped time on such a huge scale, after being through so much.</p><p class="western">            Aziraphale had been discorporated and defied heaven to possess a human, whom he’d been exorcised out of right into a brand new body by the antichrist of all beings. He had lost his beloved bookshop, all of his books, and very nearly watched the entire world come to an end, and he was just… tired. Despite all the good fortune of not having to worry about being reprimanded for being at Crowley’s flat in the middle of the night, he feared the most he could possibly make of the opportunity was about to be finding the nearest soft, horizontal surface and discovering what sleeping was all about.</p><p class="western">            Crowley’s flat, however, had other plans.</p><p class="western">            The moment the door was open, a shadow passed around the edge of it and came to curl around Crowley’s feet.</p><p class="western">            Aziraphale blinked.</p><p class="western">            “You have a cat.”</p><p class="western">            It seemed like the most obvious statement in the world, given the feline currently twisting around Crowley’s legs as he shuffled into his flat, but there was in fact nothing obvious about it. Crowley had never mentioned having a cat. He’d never had a single cat’s hair upon his clothing. Aziraphale was actually very certain that Crowley was in no way equipped to <em>care</em> for a cat, what with the feeding and the litter scooping and his general predilection for sleeping ages or disappearing on jobs for weeks at a time.</p><p class="western">            “Sometimes,” Crowley said, as if it hardly meant a thing. “She comes and goes when she wants.”</p><p class="western">            Aziraphale frowned. “You let her out?” he asked. “She could be hit by a car! How do you know she’s getting enough food?”</p><p class="western">            Crowley let out a little, tired laugh as he closed the door behind Aziraphale, the click of the lock punctuating the wordless statement. “I don’t <em>let</em> her anything,” he said. “She’s here when she wants to be, and when she doesn’t… she’s <em>not</em>. You know how cats are.”</p><p class="western">            Aziraphale very much <em>did </em>know how cats were, and that was certainly not it. He’d had a cat once, at the shop, shortly after opening. It had shown up on the doorstep one morning, and pranced right in when he’d opened the door to go out. He had been a good cat, chasing mice out of the shop that Aziraphale hadn’t even known to ward against, and keeping customers occupied so they did not buy books. But even though Jasper had not always obeyed the rules of etiquette, he had always obeyed the laws of physics.</p><p class="western">            “Crowley, that’s not…” He trailed off as he realized the cat had fallen still, staring up at him with jade-green eyes. The hairs at the back of his neck prickled at that look, a sensation so entirely human it gave him pause as an angel. He was not just being looked at, he was being <em>seen</em>. “H-how long have you had her?”</p><p class="western">            Crowley, already halfway down the hall, paused and looked back with a little frown. “I wouldn’t say I <em>have </em>her, exactly,” he finally said, “but she’s been hanging around for… well, at least five of them I’d say.”</p><p class="western">            “You’ve had a cat for <em>five years</em> and didn’t see any need to mention it?” Aziraphale asked, flabbergasted. He’d told Crowley about Jasper as soon as he’d seen him next. Crowley had come over with expensive wine and even more expensive sweets the night Jasper had passed.</p><p class="western">            “Years?” Crowley echoed. “Angel, she’s been around since at least the ark business.”</p><p class="western">            “You’ve had a cat for <em>five millennia</em> and didn’t- you’ve- you-”</p><p class="western">            He cut himself off, mostly because there was nowhere for that sentence to go and a little bit because his heart had just broken as he realized what <em>must</em> be going on. Crowley obviously had no idea how long cats lived. The cat at their feet was plain and black, if a little oddly shaped for modern-day house cats. Her ears were a little too big, her face slender and cut in a way that reminded Aziraphale of something he couldn’t quite place.</p><p class="western">            But she was still a plain black cat, and to a creature that lived by centuries, by millennia, and saw all manner of mortal creatures come and go, perhaps one cat looked like another. Crowley didn’t spend much time at his flat; perhaps he couldn’t tell the difference. If one passed and another showed up to take its place… well. It might look like a cat that didn’t pay attention to physics.</p><p class="western">            So he let it drop, and took a step forward, into the flat, and Crowley got the hint.</p><p class="western">            “Yeah, come in, come on. It’ll be safe enough here for the night. Can I… get you anything?” Crowley asked as they walked further into the flat. “A drink, perhaps?”</p><p class="western">            “A drink sounds nice,” Aziraphale agreed.</p><p class="western">            The kitchen, strangely enough, looked entirely serviceable. Aziraphale had sort of assumed that Crowley didn’t bother with eating, the way Aziraphale didn’t really bother with sleeping; he might partake a little bit, in Aziraphale’s presence, to humor him, but it had seemed rather unlikely he did it on his own. The stocked fridge and full pantry said otherwise.</p><p class="western">            Aziraphale wondered, briefly, if he even knew Crowley at all.</p><p class="western">            “Have a seat,” Crowley said as he put the kettle on. Aziraphale had, in some ways, half-expected that Crowley would pull a bottle of alcohol from one of the cupboards, but after the day they’d had, Aziraphale thought Crowley had chosen well. A spot a tea would do them both better. “I’ll bring it out when it’s ready.”</p><p class="western">            Taking the request at face value, Aziraphale moseyed out of the kitchen and into the adjacent room, where a couple of bookshelves and a couch resided. The cat was already atop the shelves, staring at him with those strangely-colored eyes. He took his seat, staring back, and she gave a long, slow blink.</p><p class="western">            Trust, he thought. That was a sign of trust.</p><p class="western">            His gut gave a little writhe as he realized two things at once: the first, that he was wrong, and the second that he <em>recognized </em>this cat.</p><p class="western"><em>            Hello again, Aziraphale</em>, she said, her voice a low, smooth purr against his mind.</p><p class="western">            He had seen her once before, or rather several times before at once. He had seen her catching mice upon the ark, and chasing the stowaway rats away from the children Aziraphale had been pretending very hard didn’t exist. She was a cat, certainly, but not a <em>cat</em> cat. Not just any cat. She was <em>the</em> cat.</p><p class="western">            “Bastet,” he hissed, voice trembling a little before he cleared his throat. Of course Crowley would adopt<em> this</em> cat. Of course he would. And Aziraphale would bet yesterday’s bookshop that Crowley had no idea. “What on Earth are you doing here? Does he know?”</p><p class="western">            Her tail gave a little flick. <em>Of course he doesn’t </em><em><b>know</b></em>, she said haughtily. She blinked again, bright eyes eclipsed by void for a second before she continued, softer now.<em> You know better than most that demons can </em><em>no longer</em><em> hear any god’s voice. Even if he could, he’s got enough complications in his life.</em></p><p class="western">            Aziraphale deflated at that. She was right. Even more than just the last week, Crowley’s life had been the sort of hectic that didn’t allow for friends he could bring home. He could go out to events, or come over to the bookshop, but for the same reason Aziraphale had never been here, he suspected no one else had been, either. With the threat of his bosses, or even his nastier co-workers, appearing without warning, Crowley couldn’t even have had humans over without putting them at risk.</p><p class="western">            But he<em> could </em>have a cat, and a black one even seemed fitting, given the human superstitions around them.</p><p class="western">            Her tail curled daintily around her paws. <em>You’re at the top of the list, you know,</em> she said quietly.</p><p class="western">            “List?” he echoed, a bit faintly. “What list?”</p><p class="western"><em>            Of complications.</em> She stared a second longer, and then her eyes cast down and she brought one paw up, licking the side of it and rubbing it over one over-large ear.</p><p class="western">            “Making friends?”</p><p class="western">            Aziraphale started at hearing Crowley’s voice, and realized that must be why Bastet’s behavior had changed so abruptly. “Oh, uh… yes, I suppose you could say so.” He accepted the steaming cup of tea Crowley passed to him, and smiled when he noticed Crowley had removed his glasses while making it. “She’s um- she’s beautiful. Your cat. Has she got a name?”</p><p class="western">            “I’m sure she does,” Crowley told him as he took a seat on the other end of the couch. “I mostly just call her Cat.”</p><p class="western">            Somehow, Aziraphale managed to contain the slightly pained noise that snagged in his throat. “You’ve had her for- since- she’s been around since the flood, and you’ve just been calling her <em>cat?</em> Crowley, that’s a <em>description </em>not a <em>name</em>.”</p><p class="western">            “Well she’s not any better at it,” Crowley protested, waving his cup in Bastet’s direction and miraculously not spilling a drop. “I asked her what her name was once, do you know what she said? Mau. Do you know what that means?”</p><p class="western">            “Cat,” Aziraphale said flatly, staring over at Bastet, his lips pressing into a thin line as she stared right back, silent now. Cats might not have lips, but he could have sworn she was smiling, her green eyes bright with amusement. She was obviously not keen on Crowley learning her identity, and there had already been too many revelations today. He was not about to add to the pile, even out of spite.</p><p class="western">            “Cat,” Crowley repeated, like a conclusion. As if to punctuate the sentence, Bastet let out a soft, throaty <em>mau </em>and stood up.</p><p class="western">            Crowley made a small ticking noise with his tongue, and patted one bony leg, and Bastet hopped neatly down from her bookshelf, trotted across the couch, and placed her front paws precisely where he had indicated. When he smoothed a hand over her head, she pressed wholly into it, and a rumble not unlike a car’s engine began in her chest and throat, so loud Aziraphale had no trouble hearing it.</p><p class="western">            As Crowley scrubbed his knuckles around her jaw, he glanced up at Aziraphale, eyes bare and open without his glasses. “D’you really want to talk about the cat?”</p><p class="western">            “We’ve got to talk about something,” Aziraphale said quietly.</p><p class="western">            “Do we?” Crowley ran his palm down Bastet’s spine and she arched into it, turning with her tail held up high so he could gently follow to its tip. He very carefully did not look at Aziraphale. “Seems like every time we do, we just argue. I don’t know if I’m… it’s been a long day. Been a long <em>week</em>.”</p><p class="western">            There, in the still and the silence of Crowley’s flat, Aziraphale could not blame the sting in his eyes on anything except exactly what it was. “I don’t want to argue, either, it’s just...”</p><p class="western">            Aziraphale let out a miserable breath. He knew the words he wanted to say. They were sitting perched on the tip of his tongue and they were lodged in his throat and they had lived in the cage of his ribs for centuries now, long before he had even recognized what they were, and he knew that right now, he didn’t have rights to any of them.</p><p class="western">            “I… I don’t want to be a <em>complication</em>,” he managed at last, which seemed like a safe enough compromise between wreckage and ruin.</p><p class="western">            “You aren’t,” Crowley rushed to reassure him, twisting a little to face Aziraphale as he lifted Bastet from his legs and set her on the back of the couch. She melted down to drape herself along the back of it, facing Aziraphale expectantly as Crowley continued. “I mean, maybe you are, maybe all of this is, but complicated doesn’t mean bad. It’s- I like it, Aziraphale. I like… you.”</p><p class="western">            And there it was, hauled kicking and screaming into the open space between them. The words neither of them had dared to say outright, or an approximation of them at least, and Aziraphale could not help but think that maybe the world really <em>had</em> ended, because this certainly made it feel like a brand new one.</p><p class="western">            “Sorry. Maybe that’s too much,” Crowley added quickly, with the sort of desperation that told Aziraphale he’d gotten entirely the wrong message about what was currently happening. “I didn’t mean- you know. You’d said we’re not-”</p><p class="western">            “Crowley,” Aziraphale interrupted. “I… I like you too.”</p><p class="western">            Crowley swallowed, gaze dropping, and Aziraphale couldn’t bear the hurt that flashed across his face then. “Don’t just say that,” Crowley mumbled. The gold of his eyes disappeared as he closed them. “I didn’t say that to- I can’t- don’t say that. I can’t hear that here when we’re alone, and then listen to you say we’re not friends again later. Please.”</p><p class="western">            “And if I do mean it?” Aziraphale said, not surprised when Crowley only shook his head. “We’ve been friends, Crowley. We’ve always been… I should never have said we weren’t. I should have seen what Heaven was doing a long time ago, I should have chosen our side sooner, I should-”</p><p class="western">            “Please stop,” Crowley interrupted. “It’s already done. Doesn’t do any good to wish about it now.”</p><p class="western">            “I’m afraid I’m not terribly interested in doing <em>good </em>at the moment,” Aziraphale told him. “I’ve been trying to <em>do good </em>for the better part of the last six millennia, and look where it’s got me.”</p><p class="western">            “Here?” Crowley pointed out. “Not where you wanted to end up, I think.”</p><p class="western">            Aziraphale frowned. This was not going at all how he wanted, and all of it only seemed to be twisting some knife in Crowley that Aziraphale hadn’t realized he’d been holding for so long. He sighed and set aside his tea and turned back to Crowley, only to find himself glancing briefly at Bastet again.</p><p class="western"><em>            Seems like he vastly undersold your ability to say the wrong thing,</em> she said, tail tip twitching in amusement. <em>Do you think you can get the whole foot in, if you make enough excuses?</em></p><p class="western">            He swallowed, eyes locked on Crowley’s. She was right. He’d said all manner of things in the past. He could say all manner of things now. He had accused Crowley of lying so often, as he, himself, wiggled around the truth with exacting word choices at the best of times, and denial at the worst. He had been terrified to be Crowley’s friend, and it had made him not a very good one. There weren’t any words that were going to make up for that now, except maybe-</p><p class="western">            “I’m going to do better,” he said slowly. “I can’t change what I’ve already done, but I want to be better to you, if you’ll give me the chance to.”</p><p class="western">            Crowley blew out a breath, and Aziraphale felt something within him coil into an anxious knot. He had seen capitulation before. It was not exactly a comfort at the moment. He didn’t want surrender, he didn’t even want compromise. He wanted to give. He wanted to heal them. He wasn’t sure it was possible, but he wanted to try. He just hoped Crowley felt the same.</p><p class="western">            “It’s not just you. We’ve both got some <em>better </em>to do, haven’t we… We’ll both have to learn. Maybe unlearn some things, too.” Crowley dropped his gaze. “But, not tonight. I don’t… want to argue tonight. I don’t want to fuss with semantics or should haves or could bes. Forget everything else we’ve already done. D’you want to be friends now?”</p><p class="western">            “Yes,” Aziraphale said, without hesitation. “More than anything.”</p><p class="western">            “Then just… be my friend,” Crowley told him. “And I’ll be yours. Maybe we did stop the world from ending, but that doesn’t mean a new one didn’t start anyway. Maybe we can start over too, do things like we should have done from the start. Be friends without worrying what it looks like.”</p><p class="western">            “Okay,” Aziraphale agreed immediately. A clean slate, he thought, was more than he had hoped for. He knew it wouldn’t really be clean, that there would still be scars to touch carefully, but rebuilding seemed like a lot better prospect than trying to shore up what had been broken.</p><p class="western">            “Great,” Crowley said, in a tone that suggested perhaps it wasn’t so much great as it was mildly acceptable, and then he leaned himself wholly back against the couch for a moment. “Then. D’you mind if I sleep for a bit? It has been a very, very long week, and we’re not about to be let off easy, I’m sure.”</p><p class="western">            “I don’t mind, only,” Aziraphale said, “I’d rather not be alone right now. Do you mind if I…?”</p><p class="western">            Crowley stared into the middle distance for a long, tense few seconds, and then wiggled in a way that might have been a shrug, had Aziraphale squinted and tipped his head sideways. “Come on, then.”</p><p class="western">            With more effort than looked worth it, Crowley heaved himself to his feet and Aziraphale hurried to follow. He glanced to Bastet, but she remained where she was, watching him with those glittering, unnatural eyes, and said nothing. He looked away first, and stepped after Crowley down the hall, to his bedroom.</p><p class="western">            There were, strangely enough, two beds in the room. Crowley made no move to indicate the etiquette of the moment, but he did crawl into one, rub his feet together over the edge of the bed as if shucking off shoes he wasn’t actually wearing, and then he collapsed face first into the pillow. Aziraphale stared at Crowley’s bare feet, unscaled and sooty, and had no way to process the overwhelming wash of emotion that threatened to undo him to see Crowley so openly trusting with his vulnerabilities.</p><p class="western">            Aziraphale stared for a few minutes, before he gingerly took a seat on the edge of the perfectly-made second bed. A part of him wanted to join Crowley, to curl up protectively around him, maybe even pull out his wings to wrap them both up. But that, he thought, might be too forward for starting over. He toed off his shoes, and pulled his legs up onto the bed with him, and put his back to the headboard.</p><p class="western">            He raised his hand, as if to snap, and realized it wouldn’t do any good. His shop had gone up in flames, and all of his books with it. There was nothing left to teleport here. With a sigh, he dropped his hands to his lap, and then startled when a sleek, black shape seemingly appeared from nowhere just beside him. He glanced over at Crowley, but he was, by all indications, passed out cold.</p><p class="western">            He thought to ask what she wanted, but she simply put her paws upon his legs and poured herself into his lap. It didn’t take her more than a few seconds to become a sprawl of void, one that blinked up at him and then showed the tiny glint of white fangs as her mouth hung open just a little. She looked very comfortable indeed. Aziraphale did not touch the inviting expanse of soft belly.</p><p class="western">            “Why are you here?” Aziraphale asked her, as quietly as he could so as to not wake Crowley. “Not here now, but… <em>here</em>. With him.”</p><p class="western"><em>            For the same reason you are,</em> she purred. <em>He was kind to me, once.</em></p><p class="western">            “Surely he’s not the only person who has ever been kind to you,” Aziraphale said, even as he realized what she would say. Crowley was not, strictly speaking, the only being who had ever been kind to Aziraphale, either. But he <em>was</em> the only one who did so, and then continued to stick around through the vast stretch of Aziraphale’s lifetime.</p><p class="western">            She must have seen his understanding, for she twitched her whiskers and didn’t answer the question. <em>Will you tell him? Who I am.</em></p><p class="western">            “Do you want me to?” Aziraphale asked.</p><p class="western">            She thought about this, and then closed her eyes, curling into a ball. <em>No. He’ll need someone to talk to again. Someone that can only listen.</em></p><p class="western">            Aziraphale tipped his head back, resting it against the headboard and staring up at the pale ceiling. He could understand that. Crowley had had a lot taken away from him in life. Aziraphale didn’t want to be responsible for taking away anything else, certainly not so soon.</p><p class="western">            “Do you think you’ll ever tell him?” he asked of the ceiling.</p><p class="western">            Her purr began to rumble against him, a soothing vibration. <em>I think he’ll find out, someday,</em> she said, a little sadly. <em>When the last human has passed from this world, and the gods pass with them, he will find out.</em></p><p class="western">            “Gods don’t pass from the world,” Aziraphale said. He looked down, but Bastet remained how she was, eyes closed and purring. “Why would you say that?”</p><p class="western"><em>            Because it is true,</em> she said simply. <em>Humans were given faith, and that became what gives any god their power. Even yours now exists by the faith of humans, and the belief of angels and demons, and that is ever-fading.</em></p><p class="western">            “I still believe in her,” Aziraphale said softly. “I think he does, too, even if he’s fed up with her. He believes in her enough for that.”</p><p class="western"><em>            Then perhaps she will be the last, as she was the first,</em> Bastet told him.</p><p class="western">            “He believes in you, too,” Aziraphale said. “Surely that counts for something?”</p><p class="western"><em>            He believes I am just a cat.</em> She curls a little tighter, her paws over her face. <em>Perhaps that means someday I will become one, and live nine last lives with him. I could hardly complain about that.</em></p><p class="western">            Aziraphale let that sit where she had put it. He didn’t know how she had come to be so tranquil about her own end. He would fight tooth and claw to keep from ending. He had done. He had stood up to Heaven and Hell alike. He had possessed a human and flown a scooter across a line of hellfire. He had stood up to Satan and held his flaming sword again, and Crowley’s hand after.</p><p class="western">            And he knew, despite that they had not managed to talk about it yet, that they were not finished. They would not be left alone. Their old sides would come for them, and he would be tested once again. He would be faced with everything he had known, and he would have to choose Crowley. He would have to hope that Crowley would choose him, too, and that they would both survive the fallout of such a decision.</p><p class="western">            “You might not get the chance,” he told her softly. “I don’t know if we’ll make it much longer. I can’t protect him from all of Hell. They’ll come for him. They have to. Heaven will come for me too. I’m not foolish enough to think we’ve gotten away with anything.”</p><p class="western"><em>            They’re simple creatures, angels and demons, who believe whatever they are told,</em> Bastet replied. <em>Crowley is a very clever storyteller, and you have read a lot of books. I'm sure you'll come up with something that will save you both. Will you pet me?</em></p><p class="western">            Aziraphale snorted at the sudden change of subject, but he tentatively placed his fingertips against the warm fur of her spine and drew them down it. She flexed into the touch, and a pleasant tingle spread up his arm and settled into his bones. He let his head drop back against the headboard again, and felt his eyes slide closed of their own accord. The rumble of her under his palm left him with the same satisfaction as the best wine he’d ever tasted, the best food he’d ever eaten, the most love he’d ever felt, and it took only a moment for him to slip into sleep.</p><p class="western">            His last thought was that he would have to remember to chastise her in the morning for such a dirty little trick, but for now, he was grateful. For now, he shared in her peace.</p><p class="western"> </p>
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